Fred Perry Way – 2009

Some time ago in Stockport Fred Perry was born, lived and moved away – in pretty rapid succession. Nevertheless the Borough claims him as their own and to celebrate the fact, they have devised a Way.

Not the way or an away day but a named way, the Fred Perry Way.

Stretching from North Reddish in the north to Woodford in the south – zigging and zagging through and across highways and byways, avenues and alleyways.

Combining rural footpaths, quiet lanes and river valleys with urban landscapes and park lands.

For the long distance walker it may be useful as a link route. The Fred Perry Way provides a link between the Bollin Valley Way, and through that, the North Cheshire Way, and via a short link between Mottram & Woodford, the Tame Valley Way and Etherow Goyt Valley Way at Stockport. A full crossing of historical North Cheshire could be devised, linking Black Hill & Crowden on the Pennine Way with Hilbre Island, utilising also the Wirral Way/Wirral Shore Way.

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Which seems like a whole heap of Ways.

Anyway this is what I saw way back when, but I’ll be back again in a bit!

The Iron Bridge – Stretford

This is a bridge – an iron bridge, so called, carrying weary walkers from Kings Road to Chester Road and beyond.

Possibly to Stretford Station and even further beyond beyond.

Photo – Dr Neil Clifton

The bridge traverses the former Manchester South Junction and Altrincham Railway, the southern part of the MSJ&AR’s route has been part of the Manchester Metrolink light rail system since 1992.

This may seem sufficient to satiate the local historian’s voracious appetite for facts and general tittle tattle, but wait.

384 King’s Road was once home to pop sensation Steven Patrick Morrissey – seen here imitating himself in Elisabeth Blanchet’s photograph.

More than once this charming lad would have walked the bridge himself – on the way to goodnesses knows where.

In later life he changed his name to The Smiths and wrote a chart topping tune Still Ill name checking the Iron Bridge.

Under the iron bridge we kissed
And although I ended up with sore lips
It just wasn’t like the old days anymore
No, it wasn’t like those days, am I still ill?

The location is now a place of pilgrimage for Morrissey’s deluded fans, who with depressing regularity, adorn the structure with their misquoted quotes.

Sun drenched faux-Californian Mr Morrissey does seem to be still ill in his own unique and unpleasant manner.

Let’s take a look at what he’s been missing.

What indifference does it make?

Self confessed Smiths sceptic Mr Mark Greer – currently incognito.

Platform 13/14 Piccadilly – Concreter Planter

So here we are again at Piccadilly Station – stood standing at the western end of Platforms 13 and 14, waiting on a Southport train.

Time to spare and spend a few more magic moments with an old and trusted friend.

The back-filled concrete planter.

Seen here in a neglected and forlorn state, awaiting minor repairs to its upper sealed surface.

Once incarcerated and seemingly set for demolition, our diminutive concrete pal has lived to fight another day.

Standing alone in all elements, disabused by illicit smokers, grabbing a serruptitious chuff, whilst avoiding the ubiquitous Network Rail CCTV.

Sat upon by the indolent leg weary traveller, having missed yet another cancelled train.

Your days may yet be numbered, as the platforms are part of a Station upgrade – the platforms are not thought to be commodious by the majority of train users.

I for one shall campaign for your preservation and reinstatement – right at the heart of matters.

My personal, totemic modernist work of public art.

Somethings are worth fighting for!

Macclesfield Railway Station

Where the Victorians modelled their stations on cathedrals, temples and palaces.

Modern Man models his on shopping centre and office blocks.

Richards and MacKenzie – The Railway Station

Though it seems to me that Macclesfield Station, in its earlier and current states, refuses to dovetail neatly into either of these sloppy binary paradigms.

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The former – single storey buildings, fitting unostentatiously into the topographic and practical constraints of the site. A neat, tightly packed rhythm of brick arches with a compact and bijou porch welcoming the expectant traveller.

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The latter a functionalist block, fully utilitarian crossings with lift access columns, embodying a particularly industrial demeanour.

From the golden age of steam to the moribund years of diesel, Macclesfield sits comfortably somewhere, betwixt and between ugly duckling and fully fledged swan.

Nestled in the lea of the East Cheshire Highlands, offering practical everyday transport solutions to the beleaguered commuter.

No frills, no thrills.

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The London and North Western Railway opened the line between Manchester and Macclesfield on 19 June 1849 – Macclesfield Central was born. Later it would become a key station on the Stafford branch of the West Coast Main Line, remodelled in 1960 and rebranded as the much snappier Macclesfield Station.

Which it proudly announces topically and typographically to the world.

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Welcome to Macclesfield a town that is clearly going places, and so are you.

The station won the Best Kept Station in Cheshire Award for 2007, but was reported in summer 2011 to be distinctly shabby, with peeling paintwork.

And yet there is something in the constituent Platonic steel, glass and concrete forms that never ceases to amuse and amaze me, this is Brutalism on a human and provincial scale.

The raw concrete softened with three or four shades of grey, as a concession to the delicate suburban sensibilities of this once silk-fuelled town.

Take a trip with me – join the Cheshire train set.

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